


Trip the Light Fantastic

by pristinecas



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9418064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pristinecas/pseuds/pristinecas
Summary: It's Christmas, and Jihoon falls in love all over again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first Seventeen work posted! If you know me you know I'm a huge sucker for Junhoon and I had to do this. Of course, it's a month or two late for Christmas, but it's the thought that counts.
> 
> Rating for slight implication of sex.

It’s Christmas, and Junhui’s dancing. He’s light on his feet as he prances around the living room, half-empty glass of eggnog–his third glass–in one hand, both arms outstretched as he spins and sways to the song. His eyes never leave Jihoon, who sits on the couch looking amused but otherwise paying little attention to Junhui, pretending instead to be preoccupied by the bottom of his empty mug. It doesn’t work so well, because he sees Junhui in the tea leaves. He sees Junhui in everything–in the lights that adorned their tree, in the sweet wine that their friends had left upon their visit, in silly sweaters patterned with reindeer knit with glittery yarn, the latter of which Junhui had put on for the occasion.

The song isn’t slow by any means, but Junhui moves slowly, as though the eggnog has impaired his every move, and his gaze is half-lidded, sultry in nature as the man himself inherently is. Jihoon still flits a look his way only momentarily, breaking eye contact as quickly as he’d made it, choosing instead to stare at the Christmas tree until the pattern of the lights are burned against his eyelids when he blinks.

Jihoon sees Junhui moving closer to him out of the corner of his eye, and he lets himself look up, and Junhui smiles brighter than any tree he’s ever seen. Jihoon feels exposed under his eyes, vulnerable, but doesn’t dare look away, not now that Jun is looking at him with a reverence that is most often reserved for things beyond extravagance: the line of the Milky Way against the sky, the sun peeking through thick clouds after a storm, the individual intricacy of a snowflake. Jihoon is no snowflake, and yet he feels himself melting as Junhui comes close enough to brush his fingertips against Jihoon’s. He places his glass on the side table, and Jihoon’s protest about the lack of a coaster dies in his throat as Junhui takes both of his hands in his own.

“Dance with me, Jihoonie,” he says, and Jihoon falls in love all over again. He never fell out, but he finds himself sinking deeper and deeper every damn day. Junhui’s hands are rough against his, all callused palms and bony fingers, and he rubs the pads of his thumbs over the back of Jihoon’s own skin. It’s comical, almost, the way his hands look in Junhui’s. Paler and much, much smaller, delicate knuckles and filed nails. He squeezes Junhui’s hands a little in his own, just because he can, and Junhui squeezes back. Jihoon allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

Junhui wastes no time in pulling Jihoon to his side, letting go of his hands to wrap his arms around the other’s waist, fingertips slipping under the hem of his sweater to tug on Jihoon’s belt loops. Their bodies are pressed right up against one another, and Jihoon isn’t quite sure what to do with his own hands, so he puts one on Junhui’s chest and the other the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss. 

Junhui’s lips are soft, and when Jihoon licks into his mouth he can taste the eggnog on his tongue. Jihoon stands as tall as he can so that Junhui has to hunch less, and turns his head so that their noses brush and their lips part.

The hands at Jihoon’s waist have shifted to his ass, and Junhui tugs at the fabric a bit.

“I want these off of you,” he says, almost whining, pouting like a small child. Jihoon shakes his head, placing another gentle kiss on his lips.

“Later,” Jihoon says. Junhui nods, and somewhere behind them the song on the stereo changes. It’s slow, crooning, and Jihoon is all at once aware of the heat surrounding him. The warmth of the hands holding him in Junhui’s embrace, the press of their foreheads together as their inhales and exhales become one and their chests rise and fall in tandem. 

“Dance with me,” Junhui says again, and Jihoon feels it as a breath against his lips. Jihoon hums back, and Junhui pulls him to the center of the room to sway in place. Jihoon moves his head to rest on Junhui’s shoulder, and they rock together, content in each other’s arms. He could see Junhui’s pulse on his neck, and he leaves a kiss there, a soft press of lips against hot skin, and he feels Junhui shudder, his hands tightening around Jihoon.

They’re lost in their own world, oblivious to whatever ailments may surround them beyond the musty walls of their one-bedroom apartment, the leaky sink and sputtering heater forgotten, and the only thing they know is each other. All Jihoon knows is the press of Junhui’s fingertips on his back, the scent of his cologne on his skin, the bristle of the hairs at the nape of his neck against Jihoon’s wrists where they wrap around.

“Hey,” Junhui says, and Jihoon responds with a hum. “Hey, look at me.”

Jihoon raises his head to meet Junhui’s eyes, and the other tilts his head down to kiss Jihoon ever so gently on the forehead, and it feels as though a mark has been seared into Jihoon’s skin where Junhui’s lips touch. When he pulls back, Junhui is rubbing circles into his back with his thumbs, and his smile is radiant.

“I love you,” he says, and though it’s not the first time, the words sound fresh, as new as the first occasion that the two had murmured the words to each other, young and reckless and very much in love. Jihoon hears it as though he’s nineteen again, standing under the dim light of a streetlamp, Junhui’s old jacket draped over his shoulders, the first drops of spring rain against his eyelids and chapped lips on his cheekbone in a kiss of confession.

“I love you too,” he says, and he doesn’t think he’s ever spoken truer words in his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk on [tumblr](http://www.jecnwonu.tumblr.com)!


End file.
